


Picking Up The Pieces

by colemlock01



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sex, Sherlock's return, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colemlock01/pseuds/colemlock01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the fall, Sherlock decides to tell John that he loves him, only to disappear for nearly three years. Having secretly expected John to wait for him, Sherlock gets the shock of his life when he comes back to Baker Street to find John in, what was once his bed, with none other than Gregory Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been two years, seven months and sixteen days but Sherlock Holmes was ready to come home. He’d destroyed the last of Moriarty’s web by taking out his sniper and right-hand man Sebastian Moran- ironically with a sniper rifle. Sherlock had smiled after he’d pulled the trigger, watching the man he’d worked so hard to find fall to the ground in a bloody heap. He could finally go home. Back to London, back to Baker Street and back to John. His John.

He’d stepped up their relationship from platonic to romantic the night before his fall. He kissed John and John kissed him back and they made love for hours- John lying on his back on Sherlock’s bed, chest to chest. He thought back to the mingling of sweat and the orchestra of moans as he moved in and out of John as he rode in the back of one of Mycroft's cars, headed towards Baker Street. He’d studied his face the whole time, enjoying how certain movements would elicit different sounds and facial expressions. He remembered the night perfectly. Sherlock had been moping on the sofa while John was searching the flat for his phone, which was, coincidentally, under the cushion Sherlock had his head on. When John finally found it, he leaned over Sherlock to fish it out. Sherlock looked at him and their eyes met. That’s when Sherlock lifted his head and kissed him. It proceeded from there, soft kisses becoming deeper and more desperate as clothes were strewn from their bodies. Sherlock had carried John to the bedroom while they kept kissing. He’d lain John on the centre of the bed before kissing down his neck and chest. John spread his thighs for him willingly and, luckily, Sherlock had some lubricant handy. Their eyes stayed connected as Sherlock fingered John open so he could be penetrated. He watched John’s chest hitch with his breathing and how his knuckles paled as they gripped the sheets. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Soon he was hovering over John on his hands and knees, searching John’s face for any indication to stop. John, however, simply gave him a quick nod and licked his lips. They were perfectly in time; John’s rolling of his hips with each thrust. They came simultaneously, each of them shrieking the other’s name. Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms for a while before John caught Sherlock’s eye, looking at him through his lashes and biting his lip. 

"I love you." John had whispered, drawing around Sherlock's nipple with his fingertip and watching it pucker.

"I love you too." Sherlock replied, shifting slightly to kiss John. He caught a glint in John's eye as he pulled away and smiled, pushing him to lie on his back again. They both wanted more of each other, so much more. 

Standing on that rooftop, looking down at John was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. He watched John for weeks after the fall- Mycroft’s cameras of course. Sherlock sat with a laptop and let silent tears fall down his face as he watched his John cry himself to sleep every night. For the first month or so, he couldn’t do anything productive at all. He missed John too much to concentrate properly. It took him a while to realise he was doing this /for/ John, and that it needed to be done in the quickest time possible, but with no mistakes. He would get back to John when everything was done.

So now he stood outside of 221B Baker Street, smiling fondly at the brass numbers that greeted him as they had done so many times before. Mrs Hudson had already been alerted to his return and had made herself scarce, probably knowing in advance that John wouldn’t handle it well. Not only did Mrs Hudson know this, but Sherlock did too. He let himself in quietly after about ten minutes of rhymic breathing and staring at the door. As Sherlock made his way up the stairs, the first thing he thought was that John was watching porn, moaning and grunting filling the flat. As he entered the livingroom and found John nowhere to be seen, he realised the sounds were coming from the bedroom and were very much real. John was with someone else in their bed- no, Sherlock’s bed. John must have taken to sleeping in it after the fall. 

Despite his better judgement, Sherlock edged closer to the door, which was ever so slightly ajar. The moans and grunts got louder with each step he took and were soon accompanied by the sound of squeaking bed springs and the light slam of headboard against wall. He swallowed nervously, trying to get saliva to his, suddenly dry, throat before pushing the door slightly. The sight before him made him gasp, it had not been what he was expecting in the slightest. John was lying in the centre of the bed, his good arm reached above him to push against the headboard and his knees were brought up so that they were level with his hips. Lying between his thighs was one Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. From where Sherlock was standing, he could see virtually everything- the tensing of Lestrade’s bum muscles as he thrust, the indentation of the fingers holding John’s thighs in place, the small pool of sweat in John’s suprasternal notch. He blinked. That’s all he could do. Unfortunately for him, he’d arrived at very much the wrong time. Merely two seconds after he walked in the door, John came. Sherlock watched his face and remembered when John had made that face for him. Greg came seconds after John with a deep groan of John's name. They lay with their foreheads together, both of them with their eyes closed as they panted.

"I love you." Greg murmred, pulling out yet holding his position, poised over John.

"I love you too." John smiled, completely content with the world. Sherlock watched with full eyes and an open mouth. He actually let out a small sob. That’s when he got noticed.


	2. Chapter 2

John stared. It’s all he could do. He blinked hard once and then again when the figure of Sherlock he could see didn’t disappear. 

“You can see him too, can’t you?” he whispered, obviously to Greg though his eyes never left Sherlock. His breathing had picked up as well, his chest rising and falling rapidly between their bodies.

“Yeah, love. I can see him.” Greg answered calmly and softly. Greg had to be calm, for John’s sake. He knew John wasn’t going to handle this well and had to be strong for him. They all either ignored or didn’t notice Sherlock’s flinch at the pet name. John’s face flickered with the indecisiveness of his emotions, his heart and his brain battling over whether he should be happy, relieved, sad or furious. His breathing accelerated further, branching into panic attack mode. Hot tears streamed from his eyes as he struggled to suck in a breath, wide eyes looking from Greg to Sherlock and back again wildly while Greg tried to soothe him and Sherlock loitered awkwardly. Well, Greg and John were both still naked after all and John was very much splattered with his own semen.

Though momentarily afraid he was going to pass out, John managed to swill his lungs with fresh oxygen, Greg telling him to breathe like a husband would encourage their pregnant wife during labour. Having calmed significantly, John prised himself from beneath Greg to stand in front of Sherlock, looking him over warily. He was much thinner, almost dangerously so. It wasn’t hard to figure out that without John with him, Sherlock often forgot to eat or disregarded it until it was of vital importance that he gained some sustenance. He also had a few new scars on his face from fist fights and shrapnel. John’s head tilted while he watched him.

“John..” Sherlock said quietly, the first word he’d said since returning to the flat. He tried desperately to connect with the man he once knew. “I’m here. I came back to you.” His tone was steady though the silent plea in his voice was obvious to all of them.

“You left me.” John snapped back, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s. Despite various changes in Sherlock’s appearance, he looked almost exactly the same as when he left; the grey eyes, the tall cheekbones and the peculiar shaped lips. He was even wearing the same long coat. “You let me think you were dead!” John shouted after a moment. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d leapt forward and his fist had collided with Sherlock’s jaw. He stood back and watched as Sherlock clutched his jaw, cricking it a little. By now, Greg had hopped off the bed to stand by his lover, stroking up and down John’s spine soothingly and watching as his face failed to remain composed. He turned and buried his face in Greg’s neck, taking large, calming breaths to stop himself from crying.

“How about you give us a minute, mate. Pop the kettle on or something, we’ll be out in a sec.” Greg told Sherlock calmly with a small, sheepish smile. 

“I am not your ‘mate’.” Sherlock spat but turned on his heels and marched from the bedroom to do as he was told. After flicking the kettle on, he braced his hands on the counter and replayed the events in his head, breathing deeply through his nose. Greg was, in fact, supposed to be his ‘mate’. And John.. He didn’t know what John was supposed to be. He didn’t think he could be classed as a lover after only spending one night together but they were certainly more than friends. They’d both betrayed him. 

True to their word, John and Greg emerged after a few moments, John wearing Sherlock’s old silk dressing gown while Greg donned John’s striped flannel one. Mugs of tea had already been set on designated places around the kitchen table and Sherlock was sitting patiently with his own mug in front of him. Greg was the first to sit, soon followed by John who sat next to him, moving his mug closer to him. He knew instantly which mug was his. It was the one Sherlock had given him for Christmas a few years back, a ‘Help for Heroes’ mug which had teddy bears marching, wearing different types of army uniform. John remembered opening it and smiling tearfully, having been unaware that Sherlock could be so thoughtful (especially after Sherlock had broken John’s other mug).

“Look, we’re sorry you had to see that, Sherlock. It probably wasn’t the ‘Welcome Home’ you were expecting.” Greg was the first to speak, while John stared at the spinning liquid inside the china in his hands. “Obviously, we didn’t know you’d be coming back.” He muttered awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

“I understand that.” Sherlock answered calmly. “My return wasn’t to have been expected. I apologise for barging in on you. I didn’t anticipate that you would be, um..” he stumbles over his words, the first time that John and Greg would regard Sherlock as being speechless. 

“Why did you leave me?” John finally spoke up, though his voice was quiet. His eyes flickers up from staring into his mug to meet Sherlock’s eyes, his own desperate and craving answers. Sherlock would be able to see it, he knew that.

“I did it for you.” Sherlock whispered, but that wasn’t the answer John wanted.

“Don’t give me that bollocks.” He spat. “If you cared about me at all, you would not have put me through that, Sherlock. It was absolute hell. I had no one. I was alone and afraid and it was all your fault.” He frowned at him.

“John, please. Let me explain.” Sherlock pleaded with him. “Moriarty had a hit-man designated to each person I care about. You, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft and.. Greg.” He met the Inspector’s eye then before quickly going back to John. “Unless I killed myself, you all would have died. I couldn’t let that happen. When Moriarty shot himself, I could get away with faking it. But I needed to dismantle his organisations in order to keep you safe. That’s why it took me so long to return. You may not believe me, but I did it for you.” He explained. 

John listened intently, taking a sip of his tea when Sherlock had finished speaking. “I’m glad you’re back.” He said quietly. “But I will not drop everything for you. Greg knows that we slept together before you fell. That doesn’t mean I will be running back to your side. You can live here, I’m happy to live with you again. But as friends and nothing more, okay? Greg came to me when I was at my lowest. I never realised how much I needed him. This last year has picked up a lot. I’m actually happy, Sherlock. For the first time in three years, I can actually say that I’ve moved on. Just because you’re back, doesn’t mean that anything has to change.” He laid it out for his flatmate, his eyes boring into him while Greg blushed beside him, having never taken well to people talking highly of him. 

Sherlock nodded. “I would like to move back in, thank you.” He smiled softly. Even if he couldn’t have John as a lover again, he’d take all he could of the army doctor. Even if it hurt more than anything he’d been through over the last three years to watch him be with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Mycroft wasn't included in the list of targets Moriarty had but I always thought that he should be included. Thank you for reading! Things will get juicier, I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit short and a bit naff, just as a transition. It will get good, I promise! :)

Living with John again was harder than Sherlock could possibly have imagined. Although he had his own flat, Greg had practically moved in and Sherlock took the upstairs bedroom considering that’s where all of his stuff was (John could never bring himself to get rid of it, despite encouragement from both Mrs Hudson and Greg). At first, he was thrilled to be back in John’s life. It was almost like he’d never left except Greg had some time off from the yard, so no cases for a week or too. Greg’s time off also meant he was at the flat a lot. Sherlock never really got to be with just John for more than an hour or so. 

Sherlock also found that he walked in on one too many compromising positions. John and Greg were still very much in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, despite having been seeing each other for a while now. Every now and again, Sherlock would go out for a bit, only to return and find that the couple had got carried away whilst kissing on the sofa or left the bathroom door unlocked whilst having a joint shower. Sherlock didn’t mind it so much as long as he had a bit of warning. He had his own things to deal with whilst trying to come back from the dead after all.

About three days after his return, John suggested Sherlock go to see Mycroft, earning himself a ‘Why on Earth would I want to do that’. John huffed.   
“I’m sure he’ll want to see you, Sherlock. Besides, he might be able to give you some help with the whole ‘Coming back from the dead’ business.”  
That was all that it took to convince Sherlock. Not many people returned from the dead and it wasn’t exactly an easy task. So after finishing his tea and feigning a bit of a sulk, he tugged on his coat and left the flat.

It was still early so the banging of the front door was what roused Greg from his sleep. He yawned as he plodded into the living room, pyjama bottoms hanging loosely from his hips. John looked up from his paper and made a noise of approval in his throat.

“You look sexy when you’ve just woken up.” He purred, standing and slinking up behind Greg as his lover set out mugs to make tea. He began kissing the sweet spot on Greg’s neck, knowing exactly how it affected him. 

“Mm John..” he groaned, his hands stopping what they were doing and dropping to the counter to support himself. “You know what that does to me.”

“I do. That’s precisely why I’m doing it.” John smirked. “Besides, you know what those bloody pyjamas do to me, so we’re about even.” He added as he took Greg’s hand and dragged him to the sofa, abandoning the teas. He pushed Greg to sit before straddling his lap and beginning to kiss him deeply. He rid himself off his own pyjama bottoms before sliding Greg’s down, both of their erections springing to life between them. Greg moaned deep in his throat before standing and picking John up, carrying him to the kitchen and laying him on the table, kissing down his chest and paying attention to each nipple. 

“You stay right there.” He barked in his DI voice before practically running to the bedroom to get lube. He squirted some on his hand and stroked himself to slick his cock as he returned, letting out a small gasp as the cool fluid made contact with hot, sensitive skin. “Do you think you’re still stretched from last night?” he chuckled. John sat up and kissed him deeply as an answer.

Laying John back again, Greg stepped forward to spread his lovers thighs before lining himself up and pushing in slowly, watching his cock disappear into John’s body with a deep groan. John whimpered and clawed at the table beneath him as he adjusted to the sensation. Greg shifted his position slightly, leaning over John and bracing himself on the table with one hand before his hips began moving. They let out a chorus of moans together, the table rocking and creaking beneath them. 

“Y-you’re going to break the table.” John whimpered with a small chuckle. “We need to move.” He added, poking Greg in the side. Greg lifted John again but they didn’t go far, he simply held John against the closest bare patch of wall and began thrusting, holding John’s legs up by hooking his knees over his elbows and clutching his arse firmly. John groaned wantonly, gripping Greg’s shoulders and kissing him messily.

“I’ve been gone for twelve minutes.” Came a voice behind them. They both looked up to see Sherlock ogling them. “Twelve minutes. I forgot my wallet so had to come back, and I come home to this?”

“Sherlock, jesus, I’m so sorry.” John breathed, climbing down and pulling his boxers on. “Look, we just got carried away. We didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” He mumbled awkwardly.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Sherlock whispered, shaking his head. “I thought I could take whatever I could have of you, even if that meant I had to just be your friend. This is my home! And you’re defiling it!” he yelled, making John step backwards in surprise.

“Sherlock, I-.. You live here. I’m sorry, I am.” John whimpers, holding his hands up defensively to Sherlock. “We just get a bit wrapped up in it.”

“Yes, you do. All the time and I’m sick of it! The amount of times I’ve walked in on you two is ridiculous.” Sherlock shouted. “It’s him or me!” he bellowed. 

John stared at him. “Sherlock, that’s not fair.” He grumbled. “I don’t want to lose you again.” He said. “But I’m with Greg.”

“Then you’ve made up your mind.” Sherlock said simply before sweeping out of the room. John followed him, shouting after him. He followed him outside, standing on Baker Street in his boxers and shouting after him. He found he had tears in his eyes as he watched that bloody coat billow away for the second time. After a few minutes of staring at where Sherlock just was, he sat on the step and cried. It wasn’t long before Greg came down and carried him inside. 

“W-why does he keep leaving m-me?” he wailed as Greg laid him down on the bed and cuddled up to his boyfriend, comforting him as he sobbed. 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” Greg murmured, rubbing his back softly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter for now, sorry. Will get to updating as soon as, I promise.

The next few weeks that passed were testing for John and Greg’s relationship. For John, it was almost like a repeat of the fall. Sherlock was gone and there was nothing he could do about it. He tried contacting the detective on multiple occasions but failed to gain a response.

On a sexual level, John realised it was that which had driven Sherlock away and so they’d only had sex twice since Sherlock left and both times John became overwhelmed with guilt and didn’t talk to Greg for hours afterward. It was tough for them both emotionally as well. John tried not to let his emotions show until they were in bed, quietly sobbing into the pillow for his lost friend. John also began losing weight at a frightening speed. He fell into similar patterns to that he did after Sherlock’s fall- trying to survive on tea and sleep alone. 

For Greg, he was torn between sympathy for his boyfriend’s loss and little bouts of jealousy that reared their ugly head at thoughts of John taking Sherlock’s departure this bad again. He tried to be comforting, saying things like ‘Well at least you know he’s not dead this time’ with a soft smile but all it earned him was a cold glare. Things got so bad that Greg suggested that maybe he should go back to his own flat for a bit. It earned him no argument from John and so he packed up what things he had in 221B and left.

Without Sherlock or Greg in his life, John spiralled out of control. He barely got out of bed- not bothering to eat or answer the phone or even pick up the mail. After finding Sherlock’s cigarette stash, he picked up smoking (something even he never thought he’d do. He felt a bit of a hypocrite considering all the times he’d swayed Sherlock from the habit) and wasn’t adverse to slipping some brandy into his mugs of tea. He truly was a mess. Greg came round to check on him from time to time, making him drink a cup of tea (alcohol free) or have a shower but other than that, he was truly alone.

A couple of weeks after Greg left, the same man came bursting into the flat in his work clothes, scanning for John. After he’d got him out of bed and in a suitable state of consciousness, he sat him down at the table.

“Look.” He began. “I know things have been tough for you, but we have some new intelligence and I wanted you to be the first to know.” He murmured softly, reaching across the table to take John’s hand, making the smaller man panic slightly.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” John rasped. He’d barely spoken to anyone and his voice was feeling the strain. He took a sip of tea to loosen his throat up, his pale eyes remaining fixed on Greg.

“Mycroft called me. Apparently Sherlock had been staying with him.” Greg told him. “John, Sherlock has-..” he sighed, seemingly unable to get the words out. “He’s been kidnapped, John.” He closed his eyes as the words were said, not wanting to see the reaction.

John, however, remained indifferent. His face was neutral and his breathing didn’t even accelerate. “I’m coming with you.” He said eventually. “I want to know everything you’ve got.” Greg didn’t argue. He helped the weak man dress, pretending that the protruding bones all over John’s body had been there before all this, and they were on their way.

**OOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOooOOoo**

When Sherlock’s eyes opened, a sharp pain burst through his skull. He rolled his eyes, blunt force trauma- how amateur. His wrists were tied to a radiator via cable ties, cutting and ripping the pale skin each time he tried to move. His eyes slithered open and he winced away from the brightness of the light that shone on him and how it made his head flare up in fresh pain. Once adjusted to the light, he looked around, gathering as much information that he could.

_Looks to be a basement from the pipework and wooden staircase located in far left corner. Mainly concrete structure, fitting with a house constructed in the 1990’s. Creaking floorboards- three, no, four different footstep patterns. Cable ties not handcuffs, chosen to cause more discomfort. As is the spot lamp directly aimed at face._

“Oh, you’re awake. Excellent.” A gruff voice shook Sherlock from his deductions, he hadn’t even noticed the footsteps down the staircase. The brightness of the spot lamp meant that Sherlock couldn’t see the features of his captor, only his silhouette. That is, until said captor pulled the lamp to one side so it illuminated the pair of them.

“Hello, Mr Holmes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :) I altered the ending of the first chapter slightly, second chapter coming soon!


End file.
